A Music Lesson
by BirchTreeWoman
Summary: What if Christine never ripped off the Phantom's mask after "Music of the Night?" In this story their relationship remains intact, and Christine returns to the Phantom for singing lessons. And yet she is of course still curious about what lies under the mask. Currently a oneshot but this could change.
1. Chapter 1

**This is a bit of a "what if?" story based on the stage show and the movie. What if Christine never ripped off the Phantom's mask after "Music of the Night"? What if he never showed her the wedding dress? Instead she returned to the Opera House with their relationship still intact, and continued to take singing lessons from him, now in his underground home. **

**(Let's just conveniently ignore the fact that what I describe would hardly be the reaction of a girl who discovers that the voice she believed belonged to the spirit of her father is actually a disfigured man who has watched her from behind a one way mirror for years.)**

**Here we give their lurve a chance by ignoring such trifling details. :) **

Christine stared intently at the keys of the organ, sitting at the very edge of the stool she shared with her teacher. They had finished her singing lesson for the day, but, appalled by her blank expression when he mentioned the cadence points in the piece they were studying- Who Can From Joy Refrain? by Purcell- he had insisted that she revise her musical theory.

She examined closely the interval between his bare fingers, brows furrowed in concentration: C sharp to G sharp. She knew the interval was a fifth, but was there a G sharp in C sharp minor? She couldn't remember…

"A major fifth?"

"No Christine, remember, there are no major fifths, fourths or octaves. They are…?"

"Perfect." She sighed. "A perfect fifth. I'm sorry."

"Try again." He ordered calmly as his fingers hovered over the organ. He played the next two notes softly and deliberately, eyes closing as he leaned into the gesture. She wondered at how his fingers could evoke such an exquisite sound from two simple pitches. Such a sad sound.

"A minor third!" She was sure she was right this time.

"No, Christine." She could sense his frustration rising fractionally. "Would a minor third have such a dissonant tone quality?"

Dissonant? Puzzled, she played the notes herself. It did sound ugly that time.

"Of course… the G clashes with the A sharp. An augmented second."

"There." He said, pleased. He reached out to play another interval, but she laid her hand lightly on his arm, and looked up towards the mask that faced her. Her thin brows were furrowed. "I don't understand. It sounded so different when you played it. You made it sound beautiful."

He looked startled for a moment, then pleased.

"Discordance can be an effective musical device, but it takes skill and practise to perfect. As you progress under my guidance you will be able sing 7th leaps, augmented seconds, and even wider and stranger intervals with the ease that you sing an arpeggiated scale. That is the mark of a truly accomplished voice." He smiled at her, and she returned it; his enthusiasm was infectious, and his complete faith in her abilities a comfort.

"Try it now." He ordered, striking a G chord. "Sing the A sharp."

She opened her mouth, concentrating so intently on struggling to find the note that she forgot all else.

"Posture!" He scolded, and she corrected herself quickly. He was always so much stricter with her singing than her theory or piano work.

"Close." He said thoughtfully after a time. "Impressive for a first attempt. But you are singing an A natural- you need to raise it a semitone."

She glowed. There really was nothing quite like his praise, however small.

"Now C Major:" he said, changing the chord. "Sing for me a D sharp."

She did, and perfectly so.

"Beautiful." They breathed in unison, and then laughed softly. Her hand seemed to fall naturally to his shoulder, and he smiled at it, then up at her.

"I am pleased to know that you hear it, as I do." He said warmly.

Christine sensed a rare opportunity, forcing the words from her lips before she lost her nerve. "Perhaps…I would be able to see it, also." She tried to gaze steadily at him, but he turned his head and rose quickly, hiding whatever emotions played out upon his face. The atmosphere in the room shifted suddenly from comfortable to tense, and she cursed her recklessness. It was the moments like that of a few seconds ago, when they were completely at ease with one another, that she cherished with him.

After a few tense moments he spoke.

"Christine I have told you, what lies beneath this mask far surpasses mere ugliness. Now, do not raise the subject again." His voice had lost all its warmth from moments ago, and was filled with a cold authority. How quickly they shifted from friends to master and student!

He began to quickly pack away the sheet music they had used in the afternoon's lesson. Christine wrung her hands together in the tense silence, her next words bursting forth almost irrepressibly.

"Your desire to conceal it from me has only fuelled my imagination- I am certain I have created in my mind images far worse than the reality-"

He laughed humourlessly, and turned to face her, "And I am certain of the contrary!" He swept around her to a nearby shelf.

The finality in his tone angered her, and mounting frustration prompted her to speak without thinking.

"Really! What's the worst it could-?" She ventured, and winced, knowing that this was the worst possible thing to say. He let out a furious sound and spun around to glare at her once more.

"You dare to suggest that it is vanity that keeps me here, trapped in this hateful prison?" For the first time she sensed the magnitude of his bitterness. His teeth were bared in an almost animalistic manner and his voice became dangerously mocking. "That my own mother forced me to wear a mask because of, perhaps, a mildly unappealing scar?"

She was shocked by his last comment, and he seemed to regret it as he spoke, realising that he had once again forged a crack in the aura of mystique and power he tried so desperately to preserve around her.

She sensed it would be unwise to inquire further while he was so enraged. She stared at the floor, ashamed, as he moved agitatedly to the opposite side of the room, inwardly cursing.

"Forgive me." She said in a small voice. "It was not my intention to make light of your torment."

She felt awful now. Why had she brought it up? Her stupid insatiable curiosity was not worth their friendship.

She moved slowly to where he stood; breathing unsteadily in his anger and clutching a work of Mozart whose pages were crumpling. He did not meet her gaze until she raised her hand to rest against the unmasked side of his face. It was warm and smooth and pleasant to the touch. His eyes fluttered and closed.

There must be a way to resolve this.

"Describe it to me." She whispered as gently as she could, caressing his face and fighting the unexpected desire she suddenly felt to press her lips to it. Conflicting expressions of pleasure and pain contorted his features and it took him several moments to answer. Her heart wrenched at the sight. "It is-a deformity." He choked at last.

"A birthmark?"

He shook his head wearily, but not in answer to her question.

"Please, let me show you that whatever the sight that haunts you- it cannot cause me to think less of you!"

"No … no more of this Christine." He sighed, seeming to regain his composure. She sighed herself, knowing that the opportunity was lost, and dropped her hand reluctantly. Did she imagine the disappointment in his expression as it fell to her side? She certainly did not imagine the way his gaze lingered on it as they stood in a few moments silence.

"You will know my face…but later, later when I am sure…"

Her eyebrows rose at this development.

"Sure of what?" Her eyes searched his, but he shook his head again, seeming once again to struggle on the verge of speech. "No. Not yet." he whispered at last, more to himself than her.

"Come, it is nearly dusk." He said at last, and she took his hand, trying to apologise for the argument with her eyes. Slowly they made their way back up towards the light.

**I'd love to know what you think **

**Oh and what happened to Raoul? Pfft who cares? :D **


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey people! Thanks for the feedback :) Ok so I've decided that this all happens BEFORE Firmin and Andre take over the Opera house, and before Raoul enters the picture. They're still preparing for **_**Hannibal**_** here. **

Christine fought her drooping eyelids as she sat with the other chorus girls off stage. It had been a gruelling week of rehearsals that began at dawn each day and finished late, as the Opera house entered its usual stressful final week before the opening night of a new production. The chorus girls appreciated the short rest they were granted by Madame Giry as Piangi and Carlotta revised a troublesome duet somewhere in the second act, and they lay on the hard wooden stage stretching out bruised limbs.

Christine had experienced many weeks like it before in the years of her childhood and young adult life spent in the Opera Populaire, and had learned to stay calm amidst the hysteria of poor director Reyer, the tantrums of La Carlotta and the strictness (bordering on brutality) of Madame Giry.

However this week was worse than ever. For a start on Monday she had strained a muscle in her upper back landing incorrectly after a _fouetté jeté _(at which she'd never been particularly good), and irritatingly it was just severe enough to twinge painfully each time she employed that particular muscle. Furthermore the pain kept her uncomfortable and unable to sleep at night, and so dark rings encircled her eyes and her weary body was sometimes unable to keep pace with the other girls, earning her constant reprimands from Madame Giry. As if that wasn't enough to be going on with, her music teacher still insisted on voice lessons for two hours minimum each night, the thought of which made her groan then and there.

"Is your back troubling you again Christine?" Meg asked, raising her head to glance at her friend in concern. Christine was struck, not for the first time that week, with a twinge of envy at the suppleness of her friend's body. Meg sat with her legs stretched out straight before her, and was able to fold herself so neatly in half so that her head touched the floor between them. Christine had never been able to manipulate her body in that manner, and was losing flexibility at an ever increasing rate now that her dedication to ballet was compromised by her singing.

"I am quite fine Meg, thank you." She wasn't, but she didn't want to hurt her friend's feelings. Meg, meaning well, had tried to unknot the knots in Christine's back yesterday and ended up doing far more harm than good.

"Alright girls, act two from the top now if you please." Madame Giry's stern voice ordered.

Christine rose with the other dancers, bit back a groan, and positioned herself on the stage. Then the orchestra began to play and they were off.

She just didn't seem to _enjoy_ ballet any more. The delight she used to experience as her body swirled, leapt and twirled in time with the music seemed to pale dimly in comparison with the sheer pleasure she felt _singing_ to the audience, standing alone on a wide stage, hearing her pure notes rising above the orchestra to ring out in the auditorium, the excitement of losing herself in the performance, the rumble of applause from the audience…

"Oomph!"

Christine collided painfully with an auburn headed dancer she knew only by name, who then fell heavily to the ground in front of Meg, and in a domino effect the row of ballerina's behind her crashed one by one into the heap of bodies.

"I'm so sorry Lucienne!" Christine squeaked, trying to help the girl up, but judging by her expression Lucienne seemed more concerned about the imminent wrath of Madame Giry than her bruised arm. Christine glanced nervously to where Lucienne was staring, caught site of Madame Giry's livid face, and braced herself.

"_Christine Daa_é!" She roared across the now silent stage, and all twelve chorus girls jumped about an inch. "_Where _is your focus! No dancer under my instruction has ever made so enormous an error in the _final week of rehearsals!_ Has your success of last month gone to your head? Do you now believe yourself above dedication and practise! _You are not yet a prima donna_!"

"No Madam, not at all!" Christine choked as Carlotta made a disbelieving sound. "I'm sorry Madame, it won't happen again!"

"No, it will not! Because if it does I will be forced to withdraw you from the chorus until you can perform acceptably!"

The threat of a break from dancing wasn't as terrifying as Madame Giry might have intended. But Christine bowed her head and nodded submissively.

"Very well, if that is all Madame Giry..?" Reyer said timidly, looking sympathetically at Christine. She gave him a small smile. She had always liked the director.

"That is all." She said curtly.

"Well, good job today everyone." He said weakly. He was met with disbelieving looks from everyone involved.

"Take this afternoon off, I think everyone needs to give their legs and voices a rest. Our final rehearsal will be tomorrow morning, so read over your parts again and make sure you know every word. Carlotta, dear, if you wouldn't mind, we just need to go over that lovely aria in Act 4…"

Slowly everyone began to move off the stage, and Christine glanced longing at the suddenly energetic group of dancers exciting from the doors opposite her: _They_ were planning to celebrate their freedom with a dinner out at the lovely restaurant down the street from the Opera Populaire. _She_ had a lesson to attend. A stern glance from Madame Girly wiped the expression off her face, and blushing she busied herself with wiping her brow.

Christine listened to Carlotta rehearse as she untied her shoes and flexed her tightening muscles. She had never used to get this stiff after performances. She cringed as Carlotta strained to reach the high D in the song, but had to give the woman credit: Her trills were far neater than Christine's.

Sighing she grabbed her things and made the solo journey to the ballet girls' dormitories; tired, aching, thirsty, hungry. Hungry…

The kitchens were only a few corridors away, but she wasn't allowed to eat before singing. But was he around? Was he with her now, hiding behind the walls? She glanced around nervously in the backstage storage area, a mess of sets, props and extravagant costumes that all seemed to consist of far too much lace. The lifeless mannequins, usually inconspicuous in the chaos of life backstage were suddenly eerie now that Christine was alone. _No, I can't_ , she decided, sighing. He would know. He always knew.

She reached her dressing room with time to spare, and changed into warmer attire in anticipation of the lesson below the ground, then sunk happily into her large ornate and cushioned armchair, meaning to make use of every second, and within moments was asleep…

For the second time Christine woke amongst red velvet cushions to the gentle lapping of water. She stretched lazily, smiled and rolled onto her side. His bed was so _comfortable_. The black lace canopy rose above her head and she fumbled to find the tassel that would allow her out.

When her feet hit the cold stone floor she realised her shoes had been removed and were waiting for her at the exit of his bedroom. Slipping into them she glanced around the cave, to the large black and ivory organ surrounded by candles, expecting to see her mentor in his dark suit and waistcoat playing softly at the instrument. But the room was empty, and all that could be heard was the water.

She settled herself at the organ, the seat seeming overlarge without her teacher beside her, and tried to play the handwritten music on the manuscript paper. It was a heartbreakingly beautiful melody; simple and lyrical, her favourite kind, but she found her fumbling fingers could not do it justice.

Sighing, she leaned back in the seat, into someone warm.

"Did you sleep well?" He smiled down at her, raising his hand to rest on her shoulder.

"Yes." She sighed contentedly. "I love waking up here. It's so peaceful."

When he didn't reply she turned around on the seat, and although the white porcelain mask faced her she could see his smile grow.

His gloved hand took hers gently, and into it he placed an enormous red apple. "You must be hungry. There is more fruit should you desire it."

"Oh I am!" She gushed, bringing the delicious fruit to her lips, and then suddenly lowering it again. "But our lesson…?"

He dismissed her qualms with his hand. "We have several hours before rehearsals begin."

"What is the time now?"

"Early morning."

She nodded, and he watched her as she took a bite of the fruit. Flustered, she turned back to the organ.

"I fear opening night will not be a success." He said from behind her.

She groaned inwardly. Had he witnessed her humiliation? She decided to own to it.

"No, especially not if I'm involved."

He raised his visible eyebrow.

She sighed. "I lost focus during rehearsal today and knocked over half the cast." She glanced nervously up at him, expecting a reprimand, but he looked thoughtful.

"Why were you unfocused?"

She blushed. She couldn't tell him the real reason- that she was fantasising about having the lead role once again.

"I…I hurt my back." It wasn't a lie. "It's not bad enough to see me out of the show, and I need the extra practise, so it's just been getting worse and worse…"

"You should be singing." His hands moved to her shoulders again, and began to gently massage them, quickly finding the swollen muscle and soothing it. (She was very glad she'd told that lie.) "And you will. Soon you will."

"I don't think so. She's much better than me."

"_Carlotta?"_

"Yes."

"Christine, Christine!" He chided. "How sorely you underestimate your own talents! Granted, Carlotta was an adequate singer several seasons ago before her ever swelling ego blinded her to the maintenance necessary for an aging voice…but you Christine, your voice is pure in ways hers never was, and with me as your tutor…we shall conquer all of Paris!"

He spoke with such vigour that her heart swelled a little at the thought.

"The reviews for your debut were favourable of course, and the Opera will benefit most profusely when you take your place as prima donna in the next production, but I have decided to be generous: In these next few weeks Carlotta will perform her final role, but then she will be… _required_ to resign and you will take her place. And this will of course allow us time to perfect your voice before your return to centre stage. Your first performance was beautiful, do not misunderstand me! But as Marguerite in the new production of Faust…you will astound all of Paris."

Christine laughed at the beautiful idea.

"You paint a pretty picture. And yet I find it difficult to imagine _La Carlotta_ simply deciding to resign from the limelight!"

"Do not fret. She will be…sufficiently persuaded."

He spoke amiably but Christine felt the hairs on her arms stand on end.

"What…what do you mean?"

**Awkward place to stop, sorry. Like a cliffhanger but ...not dramatic enough lol. But I'm pretty much making this up as I go along and my brain started to frizzle. Anyway I hope you enjoyed it at least a little bit. :) **


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